


Al Mugello Non Si Dorme

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: M/M, Mugello 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: Jorge lets Valentino into his motorhome, and it feels like letting Valentino back in his life, opening the doors he considered forever closed.





	Al Mugello Non Si Dorme

“Ciao.”

Jorge turns towards the source of the voice, though, he doesn’t need to; he’d recognize the owner anywhere. The timbre is so characteristic, it would be impossible not to. 

It’s very late, or maybe very early would be a more appropriate term, as the first rays of sun start showing up on the horizon, announcing a new day. Valentino’s clothes carry as many creases as his own and a faint smell of cigarettes mixed with champagne reaches his nostrils, familiar and yet, something he hasn’t experienced in a long while. There’s not a soul nearby, everyone still somewhere out, celebrating the race. Celebrating Valentino. Celebrating him. 

_Al Mugello non si dorme._

The adrenaline is still coursing in his veins, levels higher than the natural ones, and it’ll take a while for it to subside, because this victory tastes almost like his first. 

Jorge allows himself a longer glance, looking at Valentino properly, not omitting the details. There’s not a second of hesitation when the corners of his lips mirror Valentino’s and the scene is kind of bizarre, them grinning at each other like actual friends, not former teammates, former enemies.

_Former lovers._

“Once again, congratulations,” Valentino finally breaks the silence, voice cutting through the distant noise of the still ongoing celebrations. 

There’s no dishonesty to be found in there, and Jorge isn’t sure when or how he ends up with long arms wound tightly around his waist, forehead pressed against the nook of Valentino’s neck. The tension brought by the surprising movement leaves his muscles as he lets himself be held, letting the tiniest bit of his walls crumple. It takes a bit of time for his brain to catch up with his surroundings, what is actually going on, but he wins the fight with the alarms going off in his head, not approving of them. It’s his day. There’s no place for them. 

The air has the smell of an intimacy Jorge thought they couldn’t ever return to, something not to be regained. There isn’t much of their flesh that isn’t touching, not locked in an embrace that evokes all kinds of feelings he attempted to bury deep inside long ago. Unsuccessfully, apparently. 

“You did it.” Valentino searches for his gaze; Jorge lets their eyes lock. Open. Honest. “You won on the Ducati.”

 _Even though I couldn’t,_ Jorge reads between the lines, but it’s not resentment underlining the words. To his surprise, it’s actually praise, Valentino appreciating him, and even though he’s heard tons of congratulations and compliments today, this one hits particularly close to home. 

“Yeah, I did,” he confirms. He’s never doubted himself to be capable of taking that victory, but now that it finally happened, the taste is sweeter than he could’ve imagined. 

Nodding, Valentino leans forward, stopping millimetres short of his lips. There’s a question hidden in there, asking for permission Jorge answers by pulling on the back of Valentino’s neck. Maybe it should be surprising, to find out how little has changed _here_ when so much has changed outside. The circumstances and also how they changed as people. However, it isn’t, and their lips fall into place easily, just like they did before.

“Are we doing this again?” Jorge questions when Valentino’s hands find his hips, stroke the protruding bones slowly. 

This ritual they used to have, landing in the sheets together each time either of them ended on the highest step of the podium, that’s something they haven’t done in the past three years. Understandably so, he doubts it could’ve been possible at the time, but now Jorge can already sense his heart rate picking up, the anticipation locating itself in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn’t, he knows it well he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want Valentino, but he does. 

And, he takes a guess, the feeling might be mutual. 

Valentino’s response is a murmur somewhere near Jorge’s ear, warm breath fanning over his skin and prompting goosebumps on his limbs. “I want to,” Valentino admits, and if Jorge’s day could’ve become any better, it just did. “But I have a condition.”

So, that’s it.

Jorge squashes the disappointment trying to break out. It couldn’t have been that easy, it never is, he scolds himself wordlessly. Goodness, when was anything ever easy between them, it must’ve been a true miracle. What is the worst though, is that his reaction is something Valentino must’ve caught up on. 

“Jorge,” Valentino says, for once pronouncing his name properly, not one of the many variations of _your-gay._ “Look at me.”

Intent on not letting anything show up on his face, Jorge dons the indifferent mask he created as a shield against the world. “What.” It comes out harsher than he’d have liked, but it’s not like it could be taken back, no chance of erasing the word. 

One of the hands moves from his hip to his shoulder, giving a squeeze. Logically, Jorge knows there’s no physical possibility of that, but the touch burns, scorching and stinging, his emotions affecting his body. He doesn’t get it, what Valentino’s trying to do, and he lets an eyebrow rise, waiting. He doesn’t know what he was counting on, but certainly not this. 

“This-” Valentino points between Jorge and himself, Jorge’s eyes following the movement. “Ended badly before.”

 _Badly is the understatement of the century,_ Jorge catches himself in time before spewing that out, stops before giving it to Valentino straight, but it’s a close call. 

Without further prompting, Valentino continues his earlier words. “I was stupid,” he says and it might be an admittance, might be a confession, might be even something else. Jorge catches the change in his posture, shoulders no longer kept straight and head high. The line of Valentino’s lips flattening and eyes softening. 

“You were,” he agrees, because there’s nothing but truth to that statement. 

“Yeah.” Valentino lets his fingers caress the skin of Jorge’s shoulder and neck, dipping just below the collar of the cotton shirt; Jorge fights his body not to let that shiver break out and fails. “This time, I don’t want to be stupid.” He looks up again, nothing hidden in his expression. 

The tingling is back in Jorge’s stomach, growing in strength. He knows that it’s a lost fight. His fingers wrap around Valentino’s wrist and he tugs on it, the two of them falling into a synchronised step. “You’d better not.”

For once, Valentino’s the one following him, without protest, with no complaints. The absence of any other person enables them to cover the distance alongside each other, shoulders brushing even when there is more than enough space. Jorge lets him into his motorhome, and it feels like letting Valentino back in his life, opening the doors he considered forever closed. 

Once again, Jorge’s reminded of everything that used to be, the touch they used to share, how much and, at the same time, how little changed. He both hates and loves how Valentino’s able to reduce him into a mess, both mind and body. But it’s more of the former than the latter, the scales shifting faster than he thought possible. 

Soon, he’s backed against a wall, jeans pulled down his legs and tangled around the ankles, while Valentino falls to his knees with as much grace as Jorge has ever seen. The gasp that follows is not something he’s even trying to hold back, letting his mind get clouded, feeling instead of having any rational thought. The hands placed on his hips prevent him from bucking, since that’s surely something he’d have done otherwise, the blood already rushing in his ears, the tension building up.

He’s almost there when Valentino, the damned tease, lets go, swiping the tongue over his own lips, making a show out of it with pure deliberation. 

“Go.” Jorge pushes him towards the bed, both aroused and annoyed at being left hanging. 

They stumble a bit, trying to shed the last remaining clothes off while not letting go of each other, a feat that proves to be easier said than done. Valentino tugs on Jorge’s shirt, pulls it over the head, while Jorge retaliates by snapping the elastic of his underwear. 

The bite Jorge leaves on the side of Valentino’s neck reddens quickly, won’t be hidden easily. “I can lend you a scarf,” he offers, grinning when Valentino can’t hold onto the pretended frown for long. 

“I might take that offer,” Valentino answers, before twisting his fingers in a way that renders Jorge unable to continue the argument.

Their chests fall and rise rapidly, hearts still racing as their heads hit the pillows softly. They need a few moments to bask in the afterglow, letting all that happened settle in, but when Jorge steals a quick glance at Valentino’s face, he finds nothing but bliss there. 

Valentino doesn’t leave immediately after, either, and it may have something to do with Jorge’s head on his shoulder and maybe with the leg Jorge has hooked around his. Doesn’t matter. It isn’t until around 8 AM that they untangle from the sheets, even though neither has gotten a minute of sleep that night, and even then, unwillingly. The espresso poured into white, non-ornate cups burns their tongues slightly, and Valentino is wearing a shirt that’s too short on him and a bit too wide in the shoulders. 

When Jorge leans against the wall, the text from the team cutting their time together short, he smirks. “See you after my next victory.”

Valentino meets him in front of the door and steals a kiss Jorge’s glad to lose. “How about that Venice first, instead?” Picking up his cap, he grins while he puts in on his head. “You did say we can go there together,” he adds, the sparkle back in his eyes.

“Sure,” Jorge answers, smirk morphing into an actual smile. All the good memories to be made in Venice, he’s definitely looking forward to those. “Venice, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jorge brought this one on them when he said he and Vale could go on a ~~double~~ date in Venice haha.
> 
> I'm incredibly happy for him and loved their interactions, I hope to see more of both soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
